


MURD 201: Pop Quiz

by Alyssa Blackbourn (CastielAOTL)



Series: MURD 201 [3]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, Mystery, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielAOTL/pseuds/Alyssa%20Blackbourn
Summary: STOP! Before you read this story, you MUST read the following:MURD 201: Syllabus by Haven126MURD 201: Exam 1 by meMURD 201: Exam 2 by meSeriously, this will not make sense if you don't.Murdoc's class is back in session, and these lessons are brutal. The curve can't save them, and maybe Mac can't, either. Time for a pop quiz! For everyone's sake, I hope you all did the reading.
Series: MURD 201 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134404
Kudos: 9





	1. Day After Grading Day: Drink to Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haven126](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haven126/gifts).



“Alright, Kyser, what’s the—whoa,” Simmons broke off when he saw the state of the room his out-of-commission teammate had claimed as his office. Jack, Matty, and Riley followed him, and each stopped short when they saw it. The walls of the small office space had been covered in papers, each one with at least one bit of data highlighted. They seemed to be clustered in groups, and on the left hand wall, it started organized, but it was easy to see the decline that happened as time went on. The clusters became more haphazard as they went around the room, and the small table in the middle, surrounded on all sides by stacks of banker boxes, looked like a paper warzone. At the center of it all, was Kyser.

Mark Kyser looked up from the paper in front of him, where he was highlighting something in green, with another, yellow highlighter gripped in his teeth. He had dark circles settled under his eyes, and his hair stuck up at odd angles. He looked like he drank at least ten cups of coffee before they arrived, because despite his disheveled appearance, his eyes were wide and freakishly alert. The medic blinked, then took the highlighter out of his mouth.

“What took you so long?”

“Ah...Mark, how long have you been awake?” Jack asked tentatively. Mark frowned at him.

“Only, like...” he looked at his watch, “twenty hours? Twenty-two? I don’t know; twenty-five, tops. Why?”

“I thought you said you just couldn’t sleep,” Simmons said slowly, looking around at the madness decorating the room.

“Yeah, last night; no big deal,” Kyser gave him a look. “I can only be trapped alone in a house for so long before I start to lose my mind.”

“No offense but it kinda looks like you might have lost your mind anyway,” Riley remarked.

“Yes, but productively,” Kyser rolled his eyes. “Do you people want to hear what I found or not?”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed. “What did you find?”

In response, Kyser grabbed an evidence bag off the table and tossed it to him, maneuvering his wheelchair around the table as Jack and the others examined the item inside.

“This is the room key, right?” Jack asked after a moment. Kyser nodded.

“Yep,” he confirmed. “Mac found it tucked under one of the bottom panels of one of Murdoc’s boxes, like, a couple months ago. Thought the bastard might’ve dropped it by mistake. But, turns out, the card’s old school, and can’t be easily linked back to one hotel in particular. Mac didn't see the point in chasing down a place we knew Murdoc simply wasn't at anymore if it was going to be such a hassle, so he asked a tech to do what she could with it and that was that. What she did was trace it digitally as far as she could, and from there, requested," he waved a dramatic arm at the file boxes stacked around the table, "a metric fuckload of paper records. Which, of course, then sat ignored because everyone here has something to do every day. I, on the other hand, have absolutely  _ nothing _ to do most days apart from PT, so, here we are."

"You went through  _ all _ of that by yourself?" Simmons gawked.

"Have I mentioned how fucking  _ bored _ I've been since landing in this chair?" Kyser raised an eyebrow, then pushed the joystick on his electric wheelchair until it brought him to the first cluster of papers, positioned to the visitors' left. "And not quite all of it; there were some records I didn't end up needing. The FBI provided a master list matching serial numbers to manufacturers. Once I found the manufacturer, I got to eliminate about half the paperwork—RIP, those trees. Shipping records got me a region—American west coast, big shocker there. Then sales records got me a state—California, again, big shocker."

As he'd been talking, he'd been moving around the room to each cluster of papers, before stopping at the one that took up the entire back wall. At that point, he turned his chair back to them and sighed. "Then it got a little trickier. I knew that this card was sold in California in 1982, but, I mean...Do you have any idea how many hotels and motels were in California in 1982?”

“Let me guess,” Matty eyed the stacks of banker boxes surrounding the table like a fort and the paperwork wallpaper plastering the back wall. “A metric fuckload?”

“Someone get this woman a prize,” Kyser chuckled. "So I looked into the coding of the card itself. Based on the complexity of the algorithm, I'm thinking the hotel has somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy rooms."

"Since when do you know coding?" Simmons blinked at him.

"First of all, under all the computer speak, this was more math than coding," Kyser rolled his eyes. "At least, in my head it was. Second, do I have to repeat how fucking bored I've been lately? I started teaching myself some basics a couple weeks ago. I also started learning three new languages, one of which is fictional."

“On your way to becoming a renaissance man, I see,” Riley smirked. Kyser laughed.

“Don’t worry, Riley; I’m not gunning for your job,” the former medic teased. Then he cleared his throat.

“So, as I was saying—something like seventy rooms,” he continued, moving to a smaller cluster on the wall. “That narrowed it down a lot. I mean, I still had over sixty possibles, but it was better than hundreds. Then I looked through property records since we know that wherever this place is, it was, at the very least, in business and still using the old cards as of three months ago.”

He paused to yawn, blinking hard and shaking his head before moving to the next cluster. This one was the smallest yet, and was set up next to a map of southern California pinned to the wall, decorated with colorful pushpins.

“That knocked my list way down—only eight places had both of those requirements as of three months ago.” Despite his apparent failing energy levels, Kyser sounded excited. “Now, this was likely the last place Murdoc stayed before that night with Drew and Elliot—otherwise, why not just toss the keycard? If he managed to orchestrate that whole thing, down to that very last detail, he  _ had _ to have been watching Mac for, at the very least, a few days beforehand. So, his hotel probably wasn’t too far from either A,” he pointed to one of the pins sticking out of the map, a blue one, “Mac’s house; B, the Phoenix,” another blue pin, “or C, the lumber yard where Drew and Elliot took Mac.” He pointed to the last blue pin.

“Makes sense,” Matty nodded.

“Of course, Murdoc is also a crafty bitch, so I decided to set the radius at a two-and-a-half-hour drive from any of these points,” Kyser continued, gesturing with his still-healing hand, which was free of its brace for the first time in a while. The scars from the bullet Murdoc had shot through it and the resulting surgery were still very red and pronounced, catching everyone’s eyes. Their wheelchair-bound friend, though, didn’t flinch.

“That got me down to two possibles,” he said with a devious grin. “Of those two,” he pushed his right index finger against the only green pin on the map, “I think this one is our best bet. It’s the only one within three hours of all three points—and within an hour of both Mac’s place and Phoenix.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jack couldn’t help but sound excited. “What do you got on this place?”

Kyser wordlessly wheeled himself over to the table again, picking up the folder he’d been highlighting when they arrived and handing it over. “It’s all in there.”

“You are a  _ god _ , Kyser,” Simmons beamed, almost giddy to finally have a lead.

“Alright, Simmons and Jack, grab a team and go check it out,” Matty ordered. “Riley, you’re on support. Let’s go.”

The three of them quickly exited, leaving Kyser alone with Matty. Director Webber looked at her wounded employee and smiled just a bit.

“Great work, Kyser,” she commended, causing the exhausted man to grin before she continued, “Now get some sleep; you look like shit.”

Kyser laughed wholeheartedly. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

The pair of them left the small, windowless room behind and began making their way back upstairs, Kyser to wait for a ride to come and take him home, and Matty to join Riley in the War Room.

* * *

Jack, Simmons, and half of Cassidy Todd’s tac team—due to the irregular hours everyone had been working over the past few days, teams were starting to get mixed up to try and allow everyone to get much-needed rest—arrived outside the Epiphany Hotel a little over an hour after they left Phoenix. It was an unassuming building, five stories high, and was clearly in the middle of a renovation; there were two dumpsters outside, as well as piles of construction equipment. According to Kyser’s file, the hotel was bought by a new owner about two months ago, at which time renovations began.

“Alright, guys,” Jack sighed, addressing his group of four other people as they climbed out of their two cars. “Heads on a swivel; we probably won’t have any trouble, but this is Murdoc we’re talking about.”

The four men murmured in agreement, and then the five of them made their way into the building. The lobby was doing its best to be presentable despite the construction—one hall was blocked off entirely by sheets of plastic from the floor to the ceiling, taped all the way around the edges, with a sign stuck to the front warning of asbestos—with a small seating area by a muted TV that was showing the news. It was deserted, as expected, apart from a lone employee behind the front desk. Said employee appeared to be playing a game on his phone, earbuds in his ears and back half turned to them. He had a navy blue beanie over his shaggy bleach-blonde hair, a well-kept beard, a pronounced nose, and large-framed glasses. He didn't seem to notice their approach, so Jack rang the bell. Immediately, the employee jolted, standing up from the stool he was sitting on and whipping around to face them.

"Uh..." the employee—Alex, from his nametag—blinked at them in surprise for a moment before clearing his throat, taking out his earbuds, and continuing, "I'm sorry; due to renovations, we're not accepting reservations right now."

"We're not here for a reservation," Jack assured him, pulling out his phone and bringing up Murdoc's mugshot. "Do you remember if this guy stayed here? Woulda been a few months back."

"You guys cops or something?" Alex asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"Something like that," Jack shrugged. "C'mon, man; you remember him?"

“I'm really not supposed to say one way or the other,” Alex frowned.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, and Simmons tapped him on the arm to silence him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. From behind his ID, he pulled out a California private investigator license and showed it to the young man behind the counter.

"I'll admit we're not cops," he allowed after a second, allowing for Alex to process what he was seeing. "Our firm was hired to track down a missing boy from up north. He went missing about a year ago, and his mother isn't too happy with the police's progress. The man we're looking for might have some information we can use."

Jack did his best to hide his surprise at how easily his friend had come up with the lie. It seemed to be having its desired effect; Alex pulled his lips in and pressed them together, looking around and shifting his feet.

“A kid, huh?” the hotel employee asked. Jack and Simmons nodded gravely. Alex hesitated, then finally let out his breath and nodded.

“Yeah, okay, fine; I remember the guy,” he confirmed finally. “Don’t get a lot of check-ins on my shift, so he stood out. Plus, who wears leather gloves in SoCal?”

He chuckled, and the group chuckled with him, though Jack felt his stomach turn over inside him. The idea that this kid had no clue whom they were discussing was oddly unsettling.

"When did he check in?" Jack asked. Beside him, Simmons had shifted to look through the guest book left open on the counter.

"Um..." Alex puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled, scowling in thought. "I'm not sure. I don't remember a name, so I can't just look him up in the system. Had to be a few months ago, though...ah...May I?"

He pointed to the guest book, and Simmons gestured for him to take it. Alex grabbed it from him and started flipping back through it, eventually stopping on a page and scanning the names. Finally, he tapped on one name and smirked triumphantly, turning to type it into his computer.

“Arthur Shawcross. Checked in on March 1st at about 1:30 AM, stayed until the 19th,” he announced. “His check in was the only time I really saw him; for the most part, he was already in his room by the time I came on shift.”

“Can we see what room he stayed in?” Simmons asked. Alex fixed them with a regretful look.

“Sorry, dudes,” he shook his head. “He stayed in room 407. The fourth floor is being treated for mold problems. The whole building is a giant health and safety violation.”

“If we got a mask, could we look around?” Simmons pressed. Alex gave him a weird look.

“Not sure what you’d find,” the young man said slowly. “Everything that was in those rooms was taken out before they started opening up the walls.”

“What did they do with the furniture?” Jack questioned.

“I’m...not sure...” Alex again looked confused. "You'd have to ask the owner."

Jack and his companions all visibly deflated. Alex must have picked up on their disappointment, because he added, "Y'know, the few times I did see him, he was holed up in the business center for hours."

The visitors perked up immediately.

"Do you know what he was doing?" Simmons asked eagerly.

"I checked in once or twice," Alex admitted. "He made a lot of phone calls, spent hours on his laptop...I figured he just, like, had overseas clients or something. But we save all of our security recordings for six months; I could make you guys a copy if you think it might help."

"Certainly couldn't hurt," Jack smiled, grateful for any sort of lead. Simmons' phone began ringing, and Alex disappeared into the back 'employees only' room as he stepped away to answer it.

"Hey, Matty, we're at the hotel now. Not much to go on, but we might have something on security—" Simmons broke off, frowning for a moment before his eyes grew wide with horror.

"Simmons?" Jack felt his stomach drop. "What's wrong? Is it Boze?"

Simmons shook his head, still listening, and Jack went cold.

"Mac?" He asked tentatively. Simmons glared at him and gestured for him to shut up. He listened for a few more seconds before speaking again.

"Yes, Ma'am; we're headed back now. We'll be there as soon as possible."

The tac team leader hung up and turned to the three men from the other tac team.

"Make sure to get that footage back to Riley," he ordered before turning to Jack. "We gotta go. I'll tell you in the car; let's go."

Jack swallowed his question, instead hustling after the man back to their car. In minutes, they were speeding back to the hospital.

* * *

Mac was still staring off into nothing a whole hour after Annie was shot right before his eyes. He’d zoned back in a couple times, picking up bits and pieces of conversations. Jada was doing her best to not only keep it together, but keep Mac from hearing anything too upsetting. For the most part, she was succeeding, but that didn’t mean that Mac was totally in the dark.

None of tac was in the room with him and Boze anymore, which meant that they’d fully secured the whole building and they’d probably already located Murdoc’s (now-empty) sniper nest. But since there were still two agents outside the door, it was also safe to assume that they didn’t catch the bastard while they were at it.

“Mac,” Bozer’s voice finally broke through his fog, and Mac jumped just a bit before turning his attention to the man in the bed across from him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the blond agent shook his head dismissively, his eyes roaming the room. They both knew he was lying. Mac’s gaze fell upon the needle feeding into the back of his hand, and before he could be called out, he pressed on. “Hey Boze, what do you remember about after I got you out of that freezer?”

“Not much,” his best friend was still clearly on a healthy dose of morphine, his words slurring just slightly. “Why?”

“Do you remember asking me for a syringe?” he asked hesitantly. Bozer swallowed hard.

“No,” he admitted at last. “But I remember the syringe.”

“What was in it?”

“Mac it’s not im—”

“Just...” Mac interrupted him before he could finish, “what was in it?”

Bozer paused, studying his roommate as well as he could with only one eye. Eventually, he let out a sigh. “When Murdoc was, ah...done with his little project,” he began slowly, “while I was still strapped to that table waiting to go into the freezer, he picked up that syringe and showed it to me. He...he said that he’d let me forget what he did to me, if I wanted. If it was too much. He said it was my choice; he wouldn’t make me. At the time, I...I thought he was just doing a little reverse psychology, so I said no. He said that was fine, but if I changed my mind, it would be in the cooler. I guess after the freezer I might have changed my mind.”

Mac looked like he’d just taken another rib shot. The guilt in his expression was overwhelming. “God, Boze...I’m so sorry...”

“Don’t be,” Bozer was quick to shut down what was inevitably trying to build into a guilt-riddled rant. “I’m glad I remember. I don’t want to forget.”

“What?” Mac blinked at him in shock. “Why?”

“Dude...whatever happened to me, I punched Murdoc in the face until he passed out,” Bozer smirked with mischief and pride in his eye. “I’ll take whatever psychological scarring I have to if it means I get to remember that.”

Mac scoffed before a smile slowly split his face. “You what?”

"Oh yeah. Pinned him between two bean bag chairs and lived the dream, man." He slowly—and a little drunkenly—mimed the action with a loose fist. "Made me a Murdoc beat-down sandwich." The smirk never left his face. "An' then I rubbed salt in it by refusing to give him make-up tips. Bet those bruises looked faboo on camera."

Mac's own smile grew a little wider, even as he shook his head in disbelief. Bozer waggled an eyebrow at him, and then they both burst into laughter.

Outside in the hallway, Matty, Jack, and Simmons were all finally arriving. They approached Jada first, who was standing outside Mac and Bozer’s new room, still standing guard. To the untrained eye, she looked all business, but one look at his partner told Simmons that she was barely keeping it together.

“Jada,” Matty was the first one to speak, commanding the tac agent’s attention. “What happened?”

Jada paused, taking a breath and clearing her throat. The trio noticed that she was trembling—but with fear or rage, they couldn’t say. From what little Simmons knew, probably both.

“Nurse came in to check on them,” she began, surprising them with how steady her voice was. “I noticed her acting a little off. Just stiff and shifty...It was a gut feeling more than anything. Anyway, turns out Murdoc was talking in her ear, started using her as a puppet to give Mac his final grade...I tried to get her— _ him _ —to back off, but he...he called me by name, and then he called Tim and Cora by name.”

“Jesus...” Simmons breathed.

“He knew their  _ names _ , Matty,” here, her voice wavered just a bit, and her eyes gleamed. "He knew their routine. He knows where we live." Matty looked at her sympathetically.

“I already had Ramirez pick them up and take them to the Phoenix,” she assured the new mother, and Jada looked visibly relieved. “They arrived about fifteen minutes ago. I want you to join them as soon as we’re done here.”

Jada let out her breath, looking down and closing her eyes as she swallowed hard and nodded quickly. When she looked up, the clear distress was gone from her expression, and when she spoke, her voice was once again steady.

"Nurse's name was Annie Ford," she told them, getting back on track. "As soon as she was done giving Murdoc's message, he or someone he hired shot her in the head. There was nothing anyone could do for her; she was dead before she hit the floor. His perch was the office building across the way; the tenth floor is getting completely overhauled. We found Annie's car in that building's parking garage. Her husband, Logan Ford, and their five-year-old son Matthew were inside. Murdoc didn't leave any witnesses this time."

The three new arrivals felt their stomachs drop. It was exactly what they didn't want to hear. Just when they thought they'd managed to get through this exam without any casualties, Murdoc took out an entire young family. And the reminder that Murdoc didn't care how young or innocent you were, and that he could and would murder children—Jack didn't begrudge Jada the fear she so clearly was feeling.

Murdoc was doing everything he could to freak them out—and not just Mac, not just his team. He was trying to unsettle the entire Phoenix, and he was making it personal, one agent at a time. Trying to pull the carpet right out from under Mac's feet, take away his foundation and any feeling of security. And Jack could see, from the set of Matty's jaw, that she was very well aware of the psychological war Murdoc was waging on her people. All of her people.

"Are Mac and Boze okay?" Jack asked finally, breaking the silence. Jada nodded quickly.

"Neither was hurt during this," she assured him. "At least, not physically."

"Thank you, Jada," Matty said sincerely. "That's all we needed. Go be with your family."

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” Simmons chimed in, looking at his partner worriedly.

Jada just dipped her head in gratitude, clearly eager to go, before speed walking down the hall. Matty turned to Simmons.

“I think we can start rolling back our presence here, let our people get some rest,” she told him. “Yes, Murdoc just killed three people, but he told Mac whatever he wanted him to hear, and if Mac’s right, Riley’s the one up next, so Mac and Boze will be fine.”

“Plus it looked like Boze managed to get a few good licks in, himself,” Jack added. “Murdoc might need to take a breather just as badly as we do.”

“Would you be up for coordinating a skeleton crew?” Matty continued. Before Simmons could reply, she added, “One that you’re not on, since you need rest more than just about anyone on tac?”

Simmons smiled wearily and chuckled, nodding. “I can do that. Thanks, Matty.”

Matty gave him a smile, and then she and Jack went into Mac and Bozer’s new room, surprised when they found the pair laughing.

“Hey guys,” Jack interrupted them. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bozer confirmed with a still-dreamy smile. “We’re good, Jack.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” the older man apologized sincerely, his eyes on his partner.

“It’s okay,” Mac promised, trying to get him to believe it, not missing the guilt in his eyes. “What’d Kyser find?”

“The hotel Murdoc stayed at before he kicked off this whole mess,” Jack told him, moving closer to the blond man’s bed, his eyes searching his face, trying to get a feel for where his head was at. “Couldn’t get into the room, since it’s being renovated and has mold problems, but the kid working the night shift is getting us surveillance video from his stay. Hopefully, that’ll get us something.”

“Good,” Mac looked both skeptical and relieved—likely just grateful to have  _ something _ even though he doubted it would amount to much.

“Now, listen, guys,” Matty began with a sigh. “I know this is probably a bad time, but...”

“We get it, Matty,” Mac nodded. “The longer you wait to debrief us, the less accurate we’ll be.”

The director just fixed him with a sad, pitying look. “I’m sorry, but, yes. You guys up for it?”

“Well, not that we really have too much choice in the matter,” Bozer chuckled, actually sounding amused—probably thanks to the drugs. “I’m ready if you are, Mac.”

Mac nodded in agreement, much to Jack’s surprise—whatever drugs these doctors had them on were really doing the trick—and Matty forced a smile. “Okay. Well, we’re going to start at the very beginning and work our way towards today, so Mac, if you want to leave for this part, I can have you moved to another room.”

“Thanks, Matty,” the blond agent sighed, “but I’m good. I’ll stay.”

“Okay,” his boss agreed. “Then in that case, Boze,” she turned to her other agent, “start from the top.”

* * *

At roughly 2 AM the following morning, Mac and Bozer were both woken up by the unfortunate reality of their morphine doses wearing off. Mac opened his eyes first, looking around to find that their room’s lights had been dimmed. Looking out the window into the hallway, he could see a lone tac agent standing guard outside their room. Jack was sprawled in a chair beside the blond man’s bed, snoring ever so softly. It couldn’t be a comfortable position, especially considering Jack’s own broken ribs, and he would likely regret it when he woke up. Mac chuckled slightly at the sight, then sucked in a sharp breath, feeling pain shoot through his ribcage.

“Yours wore off, too, huh?” Bozer’s quiet, gravelly voice piped up from across the room. Mac looked over to see Bozer’s uncovered eye looking his way.

“Yeah,” Mac admitted, and started absently hunting around in the blankets for the nurse call button. “I got it.”

“Cool,” Bozer murmured, apparently aware that Jack was in the room and sleeping. “Mine’s on my bad side.”

It was hard to tell which side that was, though Mac didn’t say it out loud. Listening to Bozer’s explanation of events—culminating in being dissected while alive and conscious—had seemed somehow distant, like a book or a movie, when the pain and anti-anxiety meds were still in his system, but both had dried up. Mac was now excruciatingly sober, and well aware of how much pain his best friend was in.

And how much pain he was going to be in while he healed. Eyes were one of the most sensitive places in the body, and he had no idea how much of Bozer’s was left, if Murdoc had taken the whole thing or just ruined it. He wasn’t even sure if the doctors had discussed it with Bozer at all; they certainly hadn’t done so with Mac in the room. He still had one eye, so he wasn’t blind, but driving, all the detail work he did with prosthetics—it was way too early to say how it would all be impacted, but his days of going into the field were over. And that scar, running the length of his abdomen...there wasn’t enough plastic surgery in the world to get rid of it. Even if he healed up perfectly, he was never going to be the same.

Mac didn’t even want to think about what PT was going to look like. Boze was going to be in constant pain for  _ months _ . And Murdoc had the gall to call that a ‘prize.’ Call it ‘going easy.’

Called it homework. Called it an exam. And even with a near perfect memory and all the intention in the world, shitty spot welding and some cook’s love of crème brûlée had saved Bozer. Not him.

“Y’know,” Bozer’s gravelly voice continued, “I was jus’ thinkin’...you said you picked the wrong door...left instead of right...”

“...Yeah,” Mac responded, when it didn’t seem like Boze was going to finish the thought. How many years had they done that now, read each other’s minds, finished each other’s sentences? Mac didn’t realize how much he treasured that, how much he needed that, until now, when Murdoc might have taken it away.

“...wouldn’t’a mattered,” Bozer concluded. “Nothing would have changed. You’d have...what, gotten me out like two minutes faster?”

That was kinda true. “And saved myself a heart attack.” It came out of his mouth without thinking, and Mac actually bit his lower lip when he realized how stupid it was. As if anything he went through was even close to what Bozer had described.

“Yeah,” his best friend agreed soberly. “Mac, you know I don’t blame you, right?”

Yet. “Think I’m doing that enough for both of us.”

“Yeah, I know. I can hear you blamin’ from all the way over here.”

Mac mentally debated the finer points of ‘blaming’ as an action verb as he finally found the button and clicked it. “That sounds like something Jack would say.”

Jack was still softly snoring, unsteadily enough to make him think that his partner was actually still asleep, and Mac couldn’t help a selfish thought that he wanted him to stay that way. This conversation with Bozer, it should just be with Bozer. They were both his brothers—they were equal, but different, and Jack wouldn’t understand.

The speakers at the head of his bed clicked, but thankfully the volume was low. “This is the nurse’s station. Do you need something?”

Mac cleared his throat quietly. “Wilt and I are both awake and, uh, pretty uncomfortable—”

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry about that. Your physicians have ordered a new pain management regiment for you both. We've got a tech already headed to the pharmacy; they'll be with you in just a few minutes."

“Thank you,” Mac told her, putting as much sincerity into his voice as possible, and after a moment, the speakers clicked off.

“I’d’a just said, owwwwwww,” Bozer joked, and Mac heard fabric shift, just a little. “This is gonna get old fast.”

“I hear ya, buddy.” It wasn’t his first go-round with broken ribs, but he was becoming more and more aware that his lung was pretty upset with him at the moment. “Anything else I can do?”

Bozer thought about it for a second, while another muffled snore floated in the air. “Nah. Eye itches a little, but I know better than to try and rub it.”

Phantom pain. Same as amputees reported. Mac closed his own, not sure how to even broach that topic. There was no Hallmark card for ‘Sorry my arch nemesis stabbed you in the eye.’

“Plastic surgeon would kick my ass,” Bozer continued, and Mac had to wonder if he was quite as sober as Mac felt. “I think you were asleep. Dude’s this huge, tatted up body builder.”

“Man, I am  _ so sorry _ ...” He really didn’t know what else to say. But then his eyebrows furrowed. “They...already fit you with a prosthetic?” That didn’t make any sense. There’d be swelling while the socket was healing, unless treatment now included something temporary, to provide positive pressure for the muscles and structures around where the eyeball had been...?

Wilt, too, didn’t seem to know what to say. “Uh...yeah. I went for the skull and crossbones on the glass eye. Pirate theme, y’know?”

Mac stared at the ceiling for another second, then craned his head up and looked across the room to see that his roommate was also watching him with his uncovered eye, a patronizing smirk on his face. “A black pirate?” he prompted. “In Los Angeles? Really, Mac?”

He continued staring at Bozer, totally confused, and his roomie exhaled what would have been a laugh if it wouldn't have hurt so much, and dropped his own head back to his pillow—slowly. "The stitches, numb nuts. I'm not supposed to itch it 'cause of the stitches. Doc said 'long as I don't mess with 'em it probably won't even scar."

Mac was unsure what to do with this piece of information; despite his fear of the answer, his curiosity won out. “So...your eye...?”

“Fine. Murdoc didn’t touch it.” Finally, some of the amusement in his voice drained away, fading back into a tired rumble. “Sure as hell thought he did, though, at the time. Guess that’s what he meant when he said he ‘went easy’ on me,” he added bitterly.

Mac let out a breath. He couldn’t help but be a little relieved; yes, Bozer’s life for the foreseeable future was basically going to be on hold, but ‘normal’ was still within reach.

It was more than he could say about Kyser at the moment. More than he could say about Annie. Hell, more than he could say about Riley, Jack, or himself at that point.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened quietly, and the promised nurse arrived, drugs in hand. He flicked on the lights, needing to be able to see what he was doing, and Jack jolted in the chair, gasping and then groaning as he reluctantly straightened up, one hand on his ribs. As the nurse stepped farther into the room, Jack rubbed his face with both hands, glanced groggily at his watch with his eyes only barely open, then got to his feet, heading for the door as he grumbled something about chocolate pudding. Mac looked over at his roommate, biting back a smirk, and saw Boze was snickering to himself. Once the older agent was gone, they both laughed in spite of themselves, quickly cutting it off and grimacing in pain, but neither regretted it.

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” the nurse apologized once the door was closed again, offering a somewhat-forced smile. Mac got the feeling that the nurses had to draw straws to see who would have to come into their room. After all, it didn’t exactly end well for the last nurse.

The nurse, a man in his late twenties with short dark hair and blue scrubs, pulled up Bozer’s chart on his tablet first, double checking the dose that was approved by their doctor, then went over to the wounded agent’s IV and injected the proper dose. Once that was done, he addressed his patient. “I’m gonna let that take effect real quick and take care of your friend, but after that, it’s time to change your bandages, okay?”

“M’kay,” Bozer nodded, eagerly awaiting the painkiller's effects, pain starting to line his expression no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Mac forced his eyes away, letting his head fall back against his pillow as the nurse came towards him, pulling up his chart on the tablet. When he was close enough, the blond agent caught sight of his ID badge clipped to his shirt pocket, identifying him as Darius Evans. The man took a moment to update Mac's chart before drugging him back up.

"How's that lung feeling?" He asked the blond agent.

"Like it had a hole in it," Mac quipped with a painful chuckle. "But better, now. Only hurts when I breathe."

"Oh, is that all?" The nurse laughed with him. "Scale of one to ten, how bad does that hurt?"

Mac thought about it, taking a few experimental breaths and gritting his teeth. "Three."

"Mmm," it didn't sound like the nurse quite believed him, but he didn't say anything, making a note on the chart. "Don't worry; painkiller'll take care of that and then some."

"Thanks," Mac said sincerely.

"Don't mention it," Darius smiled at him. The routine repeated itself, with Darius double checking the recommended dose before finally administering it. By then, Bozer's dose was starting to take effect.

"Alright," the nurse sighed, moving back to Bozer's side of the room. “Feeling better? No more pain?”

“I feel great,” Bozer grinned, his face relaxed once more. Darius chuckled softly, then went and retrieved some fresh bandages from the nearby cabinet, and Mac couldn’t help but watch closely as he carefully, gently peeled the gauze back from Bozer’s eye. The skin around the socket was a bit swollen, still, and Mac could see the dark stitches sticking up. His roommate had the eye shut while the tape was removed, but as Darius threw the gauze away, he opened it, and Mac felt weak with relief.

The eye was there, fully intact, just like Bozer said. The newer of the two agents saw him looking and smiled.

“Hey Mac,” he grinned, reaching up and covering his good eye, “I can see you.”

Mac laughed wholeheartedly, the pain of the action significantly dulled by that point. “That’s great, Boze. I’m glad to hear it.”

Bozer just kept smiling, even as Darius cleaned and redressed the wounded eye. When he was done, the nurse leaned a little closer to Bozer and spoke quietly so that Mac couldn’t hear him, and only then did his patient’s smile fade. Bozer glanced over at his roommate and frowned, as though contemplating something, then flicked his eye back to Darius and nodded. The nurse dipped his head in understanding, then straightened and grabbed hold of the curtain that had been pulled partially shut to shield Boze from the window, giving it another tug so that the agent was now hidden from Mac as well. For a moment, Mac was confused and concerned, but after watching the faint shadow that his roommate cast on the curtain for a few seconds, he understood.

Darius helped Bozer sit up slightly and pulled his hospital gown forward, exposing his torso, then went about changing the gauze covering the incision in his abdomen. Bozer didn’t want his best friend to see the damage Murdoc had caused, didn't want him to see how far he had to go before he could get healed up. Didn't want him to see the permanent mark the assassin had left on him, which would serve as a constant reminder of what happened, what was done to him.

He was trying to spare his friend that pain, that guilt. But Mac didn't have to see it to know what it probably looked like, to guess how many stitches it had taken to close him back up. After all, he'd watched it happen.

Darius was quick, gentle, and efficient; in no time at all, he was pulling the curtain back again, revealing Bozer exactly as Mac had last seen him, gown replaced over his body. This time, his friend wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Their nurse quickly went back over to Mac, asking him as well if he’d like the curtain closed before he changed the bandage covering the incision where the doctors had gone in to repair his ribs and lung. Mac declined; even between Murdoc and that trafficking ring, his wounds were nothing compared to Bozer’s. Darius got him cleaned up and back in his hospital gown quickly, and then he flashed them a smile, looking just a bit relieved.

"Well, if there's nothing else..." he looked between the two of them expectantly but neither agent said a word. "Hit the call button if you need anything at all."

With this, he left the room, hitting the lights again and closing the door behind him. Now alone again in the darkened room, the silence stretched between them.

"I'm serious, Mac," Bozer said finally. “What I said before...I don’t blame you. How could I? Without you, I would have died in there.”

“Without me, you never would have been there to begin with,” Mac argued quietly, not looking at him.

“Well there are no circumstances in the world that would make me regret having you in my life, man, so let’s not go there,” his best friend gave him a look. "You got me out of there. You saved my life. And I was right before; I knew you'd get me home, and you did."

"That's the thing, Boze," Mac shook his head. " _ I _ didn't."

“...I don’t follow,” Bozer admitted after a moment.

"Boze..." Mac sighed, pain heavy in the word. "Look at you, man. I—I couldn't get to you in time. I didn't even know he'd taken you until hours later. I couldn't do anything to stop what he did to you. And when I finally got to you, I couldn't even recognize your silhouette on that floor. Once I picked wrong, I wouldn't have been able to circumvent Murdoc's deadbolt before you died. If that wall had been properly installed, you would be dead right now. And if Murdoc had been smart enough to toss the kitchen and get rid of that torch...I don't know that I would have been able to come up with a way to get you out of there in time."

“Yeah, and I  _ might _ have been hit by a car on the way to work last week if I left the house on time,” Bozer scoffed. “Yes, Mac, this was a close one, but dwelling on what might have happened doesn’t do anyone any good. Besides, even if you couldn’t have gotten through the wall I’m sure you would have ended up making a saw out of toothpicks and coming in through the ceiling or something. And you said it yourself, your choice of door made sense based on what information you had. You won, Mac. That bastard threw every bullshit trick in the book at you and you still won. That’s why he’s so pissed off right now; he thought he beat you.”

“And he’s gonna take that anger out on Riley,” Mac muttered, staring off at the window into the hallway.

“Not if we catch him first,” Bozer shot back, frowning at him. “I don’t like the way you’re talking, Mac; it’s not you. Stop acting so beaten, man, because he didn’t beat you. You beat him. And what happened with the nurse...that wasn’t your fault. That was a sociopath throwing a temper tantrum because he lost again. You couldn’t have prevented it.”

“Boze, you don’t get it, I...” Mac broke off, shaking his head and looking out into the hallway again as he fiddled with the hospital bracelet around his wrist. Bozer stayed quiet, letting him gather himself. It was a few moments before the blond man spoke again. “What that psycho planned for you, Boze, what he put you through...that was when he was more or less happy with me. Now he is beyond pissed off, and it’s Riley’s turn. You say we’ll catch him before he can get to her, and maybe we will, but what if we don’t? I  _ barely _ saved you last night, man. Barely. If not for an insane amount of luck, you might be dead right now. So if that was when he was happy, what the fuck am I gonna do now that he’s pissed? Boze, if I lose Riley...” He hesitated, his voice catching on their friend’s name, and he swallowed hard before he continued. “If I lose her, Jack will never be able to forgive me. I’ll lose them both.”

“Mac,” Bozer looked at him pityingly, his eyebrows bunching in concern. Mac wouldn’t let him finish.

“He’ll try,” Mac nodded, almost to himself, as he spoke. “He’ll try to tell himself it wasn’t my fault, that I did everything I could. But he’ll never be able to look at me the same way. Never. I’m just...I’m scared, Boze. Yours was way harder for me than Matty’s; if he makes Riley’s even harder, which he will...I don’t know if I can beat him.”

“You will,” Bozer’s voice had absolutely no doubt in it. It was the same confidence Mac had heard when they’d been on the plane to Seattle—what felt like a lifetime ago—and Bozer told him that if Murdoc ever grabbed him, Mac would have him home before lunch.

He was wrong then. What was stopping him from being wrong now?

“Mac if you can just get out of your weird headspace you’ve got going on over there, Murdoc literally can’t beat you,” his roommate continued. “No one’s mind works like yours. He can’t back you into a corner because you’d just find a way to use the corner to your advantage, one that Murdoc couldn’t have seen coming.”

Mac was about to reply, but at that moment, Jack returned, pudding cup in hand, and shuffled back to his chair. The room settled back into silence, and it didn’t take long for Bozer, once again medicated, to fall back asleep. Mac’s troubled mind took a little more convincing.

Before he could even think about following Bozer's lead, Jack leaned over and smacked him on the arm with his pudding spoon. "Knock it off already."

Mac opened his eyes and gave his partner a look, but apparently it wasn't up to snuff, because Jack frowned at him. "You and I both know you ain't gonna find the answers up in that ginormous head of yours, so just stop tryin'."

Which wasn't really fair, because he wasn't looking for answers so much as—

Mac took the closest thing to a cleansing breath his still-hurting lung would let him, and Jack looked about thirty-two percent mollified. "You gotta see it by now, Mac. There's no right or wrong here. No rules, not consistent ones anyway. This ain't some chemistry test you're failing. It's the Captain Coa-coa Puffs Show, and we're all just along for the ride. I can damn well see you kickin' yourself here, man, and it's not gonna do a one of us any good, so just give it a rest already."

Mac managed a weak smile. "Trying, if people would stop hitting me with flatware..."

Jack looked at his weapon of choice, which was legitimately a metal spoon and not a plastic one, and then frowned harder. "Not gonna lie, when this is all said and done, your kitchen might creep me out for a week or two. And I really didn't get it, not 'til today."

Mac blinked at him, wondering if the Dilaudid was messing with him more than he thought, and Jack settled back in his recliner, plopping the spoon back into his half-eaten pudding cup and depositing both on Mac's tray table. "The night Drew and Elliot got the drop on us...I didn't really get it. What that was like for you, gettin' hit with that drug." He scowled—his protective scowl, not an angry one, and not directed at Mac. "God, man, listenin' to you takin' hits not ten feet away from me and the only thing I could do was blink about it...I told myself I was never gonna admit this to you, but we said no lies, so I gotta tell ya, man...that was probably the most terrified I’ve been in a long time. Not a feelin' I got any desire to repeat, not ever."

As unsettling as Mac had found the muscle paralytic, all those months ago, he knew it had to be worse for Jack. Physically protecting them was his primary job, it had been his focus for his entire military career, long before they'd met. Just as Murdoc had meant to make Mac feel totally helpless, during his initial 'lesson'—

He'd just done the same to Jack. He'd rendered Jack totally ineffective, and he'd done it in a way that Mac couldn't fix. Just like Bozer. He'd been slit open and stuffed in a freezer before Mac and Jack had ever set foot in that old TV studio. There was nothing he could do during that 'test' to prevent what had happened to his best friend. The only thing he could actually do, once he arrived, was exactly what he'd done.

Let Jack take a hit for him. Let Boze shiver in that freezer while he fumbled through a pre-selected set of increasingly macabre 'tests' that weren't any measure of his skill or intelligence, but the arbitrary whims of a sadist.

Jack was right. He wasn't going to find a reason or a solution, not with the information he had. Analyzing and re-analyzing the decisions he'd made was not going to uncover a fatal flaw. He'd done the best he could with what he had, and playing into Murdoc's construct of 'right' and 'wrong' decisions wasn't going to net him a way to beat the sociopath. Murdoc might be adhering to rules of his own, but they certainly weren't printed on the box.

"You fully recovered? From the paralytic?"

Jack gave him a long look. "Bud, it's gonna be a while before any of us can claim that. And that ain't your fault. But I am definitely better than I was, and I promise you, man, we're gonna catch that SOB. We've got a lead, and even if this one don't pan out, we'll catch another. You just rest up, and don't climb too far into that head of yours. Don't do his job for him."

Mac nodded and closed his eyes, resettling in his angled bed, and carefully didn't remind Jack that this was Step Four, and his plan was definitely starting to crack. They were quiet for a moment, and then Mac let out a long breath.

“Hey Jack?”

“Mmm?”

“No more lies, right?”

“No more lies. You ready to talk about what’s really eatin’ you?”

Mac opened his eyes and looked over at him in surprise, and Jack raised an eyebrow. “I have eyes, y’know.”

The blond agent scoffed, chuckling just slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. For a moment, he considered bringing up what he’d talked with Bozer about—his fears about Riley’s exam and what failing it would mean—but he wasn’t ready to hear whether Jack would indeed blame him or not. Besides, he wasn’t sure if even Jack could really answer that question. So instead, he found himself saying something he didn’t think he’d ever say out loud.

“I gave up, you know.”

Jack leaned back in his chair and looked at him for a few seconds before speaking.

“What do you mean?”

“When I ran into that freezer, and I turned that body over, and it wasn’t Boze...” Mac trailed off, shaking his head and trying to blink away the memory. “I gave up, Jack. I thought it was over. If I didn’t attack that wall afterwards...I might have let Boze die.”

“Now, hang on, Mac,” Jack interjected, ready to argue, but Mac cut him off.

“I was ready to say it was over,” he stated, meeting his partner’s eyes. “I wasn’t even going to  _ try _ something else if I didn’t happen upon a solution when I did.”

“You don’t know that,” Jack argued, frowning at him. “In the moment it felt hopeless, sure, but I know you, man. After that moment was over, you would have gotten mad and you would have, I dunno, made a drill out of a whisk or something. You would have figured out a way into that damn freezer come hell or high water; I’d bet my life on that. This time, I know you weren’t yourself after everything that happened in San Diego. You barely had any time to recover. You weren’t firing on all cylinders, so yes, you lost hope for, what? Ten seconds, max? You didn’t give up on Boze, Mac. You let yourself have one moment of grief. After all that sonuvabitch has put you through, I think you earned that.”

“Maybe so, but Jack, I thought what he wanted me to think,” Mac broke in somewhat desperately. “He got me to come to the conclusion he wanted me to. What if he does it again next time? What if...” he broke off, his blue eyes shining as he looked away, clearing his throat and swallowing hard before he collected himself. “What if I let one of you die just because I let him make me think I didn’t have a choice?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Jack shook his head, reaching out and grabbing his pudding cup back without another thought.

“How do you know that?”

“How long have I known you? Not even death could turn that big brain of yours off, Mac. Not for long. And if death can’t, Murdoc sure can’t.  _ Maybe _ he gets you to think it’s over, but that’ll pass real quick, because first of all, you know his game, now, and second of all, you’ll get all upset and down and all that and then you’ll look up and see a packet of fun size M&Ms and suddenly I’ll turn back around and you’ll have somehow blasted a hole in the wall because that’s just what you do.”

Mac laughed at this, the sound actually genuine for the first time in a long time. Jack grinned at him, delighted with the sound, before he continued.

“I get that this bastard has made it personal, but you are no more fucked now than you have been any of the other times we’ve been in the thick of it. If you can make it out of all of those situations, you can make it out of this.”

Mac let out a slow breath, nodding slowly. He wasn’t sure if he quite believed his partner, but it made him feel better to hear it, regardless. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Anytime,” the former Delta fixed him with another grin. Then he settled back in his chair and turned his attention back to the pudding cup in his hand. “Get some rest, Mac. I’ll wake you if anything interesting happens.”

Mac chuckled, the painkiller starting to pull his eyelids shut. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah,” Jack scraped the sides of the pudding cup, the sound lulling his partner back towards unconsciousness, “goodnight.”


	2. Pop Quiz

Mac looked up from the couch when he heard a knock on his door. He and Jack were hanging out, getting ready to watch the game, in the apartment Matty had arranged for him. Well, one of a few. There were actually about eight safehouses in the pool, and she moved them around them at random, sometimes making them bunk together, sometimes setting them up alone. Riley, though, was never alone. In the three months that had passed since Murdoc’s last attack, she hadn’t gone anywhere without an escort or two. It didn’t take a mind reader to see she was going a little stir crazy by then, but Matty wasn’t taking any chances with her.

Jack got up from the couch and went to open the door, finding Ramirez grinning and holding up the bag of takeout they ordered.

“Awesome,” Jack mimicked the other man’s grin, snatching the bag from his hand. “C’mon in.”

Ramirez made his way inside, closing the door behind him.

“So how is everyone?” Mac asked as Ramirez plopped down on the other end of the couch and Jack started distributing the Chinese food.

“Well, I dropped Kyser back at my place and Riley off at Phoenix,” the tac agent reported with a sigh. “She said she had a few things she wanted to work on there, something about the footage from that hotel. Not sure what she’s gonna find; she’s analyzed every goddamn frame of that thing.”

“Yeah, well, she’s next on that psycho’s hit list,” Jack grumbled, sitting down in the recliner off to the side. “She’s extra motivated to find something.”

“Speaking of Kyser, how’s he doing?” Mac asked curiously, opening a pair of chopsticks and grabbing for the mongolian beef, doing his best not to dwell on Jack’s comment. If he was honest, he’d much rather be at Phoenix with Riley, but Matty, Jack...pretty much everyone had basically teamed up to force him to take a step back from all of this. He saw their point, of course; he was stressed beyond belief, and staring at that mountain of evidence that had yet to yield any significant clues was really not helping. Still, it didn’t exactly feel good to be forced to take an entire weekend away from Phoenix and the Murdoc evidence, especially when Riley was starting to feel the heat herself.

“He’s good,” Ramirez nodded. “Getting better all the time. I hear he’s gonna be working on standing up in PT, soon.”

“Damn,” Jack whistled, looking impressed. “Good for him. Knew that bastard couldn’t keep him down for long.”

Ramirez chuckled, grabbing the dumplings and a set of chopsticks. “So did I. But Doc has been going just a  _ little _ stir crazy lately. I think he expected to be further along by now.”

“Yeah, can’t feel good to be stuck in a chair when the guy who put you there is on the loose,” Mac acknowledged.

“At least he’s got his shooting hand back,” Ramirez shrugged. “Hopefully that’ll help him feel a little safer.”

The other two men murmured in agreement, then settled in to watch the 49ers take on the Seahawks.

About half way through the second quarter, Mac’s phone started to vibrate on the coffee table. The other members of his viewing party were starting to get loud, so the blond agent grabbed the phone and headed into his bedroom, closing the door before he checked the caller ID. It was Kyser, so he didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Hey, Kyser. What’s up?”

Immediately, Mac was met with ragged breathing, and the blond man’s stomach dropped.

“Mac,” the medic’s voice trembled unsteadily.

“Yeah, Kyser; I’m here. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” another voice broke in, and it made Mac go ice cold all over. “Oh, Angus, where do I start?”

“Murdoc,” Mac forced the name past his lips. “What...what are you doing?”

“Why, I’m just spending some quality time with my  _ favorite _ tactical agent.” Mac heard the assassin clap a hand down on Kyser’s shoulder, which was immediately followed by a gasp of surprise, a growl of anger, and the creaking of wood. By this time, Mac had already taken his phone from his ear and was texting Jack.

_ Murdoc just called me from Kyser’s number. _

_ He has Kyser. _

_ Kyser might be hurt. _

“If you do not get your  _ fucking _ hands off me—” the medic began furiously, spitting the words through his teeth. Murdoc cut him off.

“Now, now, Mark; if you keep struggling, you’re only going to kill yourself faster,” the fugitive chastised him, as though he were a small child. Kyser let out a ragged breath and audibly stilled, though his breaths continued to shake.

“What did you do?” the blond agent demanded, hearing the TV get quiet in the other room as Jack started reading the onslaught of texts from his partner, explaining what was happening.

_ Don't come in, phone on speaker. He might not know you and R here; could speed up his timetable. _

“Well, it’s quite simple, really.” Murdoc sounded uncomfortably cheerful. “Mark, over here, has one glass balanced on each leg. If he moves, or his legs can no longer maintain this position, those glasses will fall and their contents will react with the substance I have doused the floor with, which will then produce toxic fumes that will kill your dear medic in minutes.”

“This isn’t fair, Murdoc,” Mac growled furiously. “Kyser has nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe he didn’t before,” Murdoc allowed. “But then the little bastard stabbed me and found my hotel room—even if you can’t get anything from it, it was still rude. Not to mention the fact that I let cute little Sofía live, I let your bestie keep his eye when I really should have taken it, and I let you get away with borderline cheating in your last exam, so I am well within my rights, here. Call this a pop quiz, MacGyver.”

Mac swallowed hard and heard Kyser choke out a pain-filled whimper despite his best efforts. The blond man felt his stomach drop even further, straight to the floor.

After explaining the situation as best as he could over his texts to Jack, his partner replied with a single question:  _ Where? _

"Look, Murdoc, just tell me what you want me to do," Mac implored. "Where do you want me to go?"

In response, Murdoc just started whistling that damned song, _Home_ _on_ _the_ _Range_. Words could not express how much the blond agent had come to truly hate it.

Mac hesitated, then. In the months since Murdoc's last attack, since the assassin murdered a young mother right in front of him, he had moved past feeling guilty about it. He still felt guilty, of course, but even more than that, he was mad. Furious, even. And that blinding fury made Mac's thumbs move of their own accord, tapping out a reply to his partner.

_ Ramirez's place. I'll stall as long as I can. Hurry! _

Outside, Mac heard Jack and Ramirez quickly leave, trusting that Mac would remain under the watchful eyes of the agents outside assigned to protect him.

Mac had other plans.

"Be there in twenty," he told the psychopath on the other end of the line.

"Better hurry, Mac," Murdoc warned cheerfully. "Not so sure your little friend is gonna be able to hold on."

"Fuck you," he heard Kyser snap. Murdoc just laughed.

"Tick tock, Angus."

With this, the line went dead, and Mac knew that he was on his own.

* * *

Jack sat in the passenger seat of Ramirez’s car, watching as the tac agent’s hands wrung the wheel. He looked about ready to crawl out of his own skin, and Jack didn’t blame him. Kyser had been lucky to be alive after Murdoc shot him, and after being partners for about six years, hardly anyone was more grateful for that than Ramirez. The idea that that psycho was coming back to finish the job...

“Ramirez, I know you’re freaking out, man, but you gotta take a breath—” Ricardo didn’t let him finish.

“Shut up, Jack,” he growled, his eyes fixed to the road in front of him. “This is exactly what Mark was scared would happen. He only just got clearance to use his gun hand again; I never should have left him.”

“No, don’t do that,” Jack warned. "Neither one of you could just put your whole lives on hold because of this guy. None of what we might find is your fault. Besides, Mark was never supposed to be a target. It was wrong place, wrong time the first time around; no one thought Murdoc was going to come back for him. He has no reason to."

Ramirez didn’t say anything, instead just shaking his head and grinding his teeth as he wove through the traffic. Jack’s phone vibrated in his hand, and he looked down at the screen.

“Matty says that she’s got backup on the way,” he reported. “Until then, we’re supposed to wait.”

Ramirez scoffed, “ _ You _ can wait. I’m getting my partner out of there.”

“We’re on the same page, there, man,” Jack assured him. “I got your back.”

Ramirez shot him a grateful look, and then Jack’s phone buzzed again.

“Riley doesn’t see anything on satellite, but that doesn’t mean anything,” he reported. “There’s no thermal satellite in the area, so there’s nothing to go on except images of the street itself.”

“At least we know Murdoc probably didn’t bring an army,” Ricardo offered lamely, turning into his neighborhood with a grim expression.

Finally, Ricardo brought his car to a stop along the curb about a block from his actual residence, and he and Jack didn’t waste time jumping out and making their way over, being as casual as possible. When they got closer to the house, they drew their weapons and split up, circling the residence and peering through windows, trying to get a feel for what was going on. They saw no one inside, but the curtains in the living room were drawn, and they could hear the TV on.

The pair met up around back, where they silently made a plan. Ramirez gave Jack a key to the front door, keeping the back door key for himself. Jack went back around to the front while Ramirez pushed his key into the lock as silently as he possibly could. He counted to ten in his head, then threw the door open and rushed right into the living room while Jack burst through the front door. Spotting a figure on the couch, Ramirez took aim, shouting orders to keep hands where they could be seen. Jack joined in on the shouting, until suddenly, they both broke off, blinking in surprise.

Mark Kyser was sitting up on the couch, gun up in his right hand and sweeping back and forth between the two intruders, finally stopping on Jack as he realized who he was looking at. In his left hand was what remained of a toasted lettuce, guac, bacon, and tomato sandwich—the medic’s specialty. His cheeks were still puffed out from the large bite he’d taken just before they came in. His hair was wet like he’d just had a shower, and he was staring at them in a mix of shock and confusion. But, most importantly, he was fine. Totally unhurt. Safe.

After a few seconds of complete silence, broken only by the Netflix show playing on the TV, Kyser wordlessly chewed the bite in his mouth and swallowed, slowly lowering his gun until he put it—and the sandwich—on the table in front of him.

“Hey guys,” he greeted them, grabbing his napkin and wiping his mouth. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Kyser,” Ramirez was pale and his voice was weak when he spoke.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Kyser chuckled, giving them both a strange look.

Neither of the able-bodied agents put their guns away, although they did lower them.

“Are...are you okay?” Jack asked after another second or two.

“Yeah, fine,” the medic’s confused look only deepened as he reached out and grabbed the remote, pausing the show. “Why?”

“You...you haven’t heard or...or seen anything weird?” Ramirez pressed.

“Not until you two burst in here,” Kyser chuckled slightly, a victorious smirk on his face. “I mean, c’mon; it was a good attempt, but you know I'm not gonna fall for a weak-ass prank like that. I know I’m a little out of commission at the moment, but please, remember that you’re dealing with a master, here. Now, what’s this about?”

Ramirez let out a breath, allowing his posture to relax slightly, feeling his legs turn to near jelly with relief. Without a word, he put his gun away, walked over to his partner, bent down, and pulled him into a hug. Jack left them to it and began clearing the rest of the house.

“Whoa, ah...okay...” Mark hesitantly hugged his roommate back, looking more confused than ever. “A hug won't get you out of some well-earned retaliation, you know. Am I...missing something, here...?”

Ramirez just sighed and released him, straightening up. “You’re getting a dog.”

“What?” Kyser blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”  
“Just...you’re getting a dog,” Ramirez repeated. “A big dog. End of discussion.”

“Eric, we’ve been over this—” Kyser began wearily, but Ramirez cut him off when he got a glimpse of what show his partner had been watching.

“Hold up, you were watching  _ Mindhunter _ without me?!” he gawked. “Oh, you rat bastard...”

“Hey, I warned you that I’ve nearly burned through my queue already,” Kyser held up a hand as if to absolve himself of guilt. “You were on episode three.”

While they bickered, Jack confirmed Kyser's story—there was no sign of foul play, and no grinning psychopath in black leather lurking behind the door—and he returned to the living room, pulled out his phone, and called Matty.

“Yeah, Matty, me and Ramirez went in anyway, and you can cancel that backup,” he reported, noting Kyser’s cell phone resting on the coffee table next to his plate as he put the call on speaker. “We got Kyser; he’s fine. The bastard’s not even here.”

“Your blatant insubordination is noted and will be discussed later,” his boss sounded a bit perturbed, but mostly relieved. “Looks like Murdoc was bluffing. I’ll have Riley call Mac and let him know.”

“Murdoc?” Kyser looked at Jack with a touch of fear in his expression. “Guys what the hell is going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Ramirez promised before looking over at Jack. “But  _ why _ would he lie?”

“I might have an idea,” Riley’s voice chimed in, sounding grim. "Mac's phone keeps going straight to voicemail. And not in the 'I'm still on the line with Murdoc' kinda way. I mean in the 'pulled out the battery' kind of way."

Now it was Jack’s turn to lose all color in his face. "Is his detail still on coms?" Jesus, it was a play to get straight to Mac. Halve his protection detail and have all their attention on the other side of town—

They could only hear Matty's side of the conversation. "Agents Burns and Hamilton, come in...confirm you still have possession of the package,  _ now _ ." She paused then, one beat, two, and it told Jack everything he needed to know.

They in fact did not have possession of the package. And there was no way on God's green earth that Murdoc could have gotten into that apartment, subdued said package, and spirited it away without being seen. Mac would have managed to make some kinda noise.

No. Mac had left that apartment of his own free will, probably still believing that Murdoc had Kyser, and that he had no other choice. He'd intentionally ditched them.

And not just his detail. Mac had just ditched  _ him _ . Ditched Riley. Ditched Phoenix.

"Find him, Riley," Jack ordered. "Now."

* * *

Mac popped the phillips screwdriver blade into the motorcycle's ignition, giving it a little bump with the flat of his palm before turning it, and the bike obediently purred to life beneath him. Then he flipped his knife closed and tucked it away, safe and sound, before kicking up the stand and cruising sedately away from the apartment complex.

When the Phoenix team had evaluated the apartment's security, they'd ignored the telephone pole outside the apartment next door—mainly because there was no way to climb up it before the camera up on the roof completed its timed security sweep of the east side of the building. Murdoc couldn't use that pole to get up to them, not before Phoenix analysts would spot him.

But getting down? That hadn't taken more than fifteen seconds.

As soon as he'd turned the corner, he cranked the bike's throttle and took off like he meant it, and thirteen minutes of land speed record trials found him in the hills, about a block away from his grandfather's house.

From there, he continued on foot, as fast as he could without drawing attention. As he approached his home, Mac slowed his pace, observing it from a distance. The curtains were all drawn, but he could see the shadow of a person pacing in front of his kitchen window. Obviously, that wasn't Kyser, which meant that it could only be one person.

Murdoc.

Mac took a moment to think as he inched ever closer to the structure, making sure to stay out of sight. He wanted to go for his secret tunnel, but, well, if the Ghost knew about it, Murdoc probably did, too, and would be ready for him. But, if Murdoc was in the kitchen, then there was no way he would see Mac slip into the garage. Besides his own room—which, to the blond man's knowledge, was still booby trapped like hell—the garage would give Mac the best range of options in terms of...well, he hadn't quite decided yet.

He continued his train of thought as he came up to the side of the garage, going about disabling the traps he’d once set in hopes of capturing the assassin currently inside, checking to make sure he still saw movement in that window every few seconds. His first priority once he got in would be to grab Kyser from wherever Murdoc stashed him—probably the bathroom, since it was easy to enclose for gassing purposes, and with no windows, it was also easily defensible and easy to hide a person in—and get him out of the line of fire. To do that, he'd need a gas mask for each of them, and some kind of diversion to buy them time. After that, he'd figure it out.

He came to this conclusion just as he managed to disable the traps on the window and slide it silently open. It was dark inside, but Mac was fairly confident it was empty when he peered in, and he quickly mashed the battery back into his phone and dropped the device in the flower bed to make sure that it wouldn’t get destroyed before climbing inside. Hey, he was pissed off, not stupid; he knew he wasn’t at a hundred percent yet, and he knew he’d probably need backup. Turning off his phone would slow Riley down, but not for long; as soon as they got to Ramirez’s house and realized he’d sent them on a wild goose chase, they’d come looking for him. All Mac had to do was keep Murdoc occupied and distracted long enough for him to be caught and for Kyser to get help. Then the bastard could rot in jail for all he’d done.

And in the meantime...well, he kind of wanted to know if he agreed with Bozer about whether the memory of punching Murdoc in the face until he passed out would be worth all the psychological trauma in the world.

Mac slipped through the window and dropped soundlessly to the floor, grabbing the flashlight off the tool bench to his right that he knew would be waiting for him. He kept it aimed at the floor, hoping he wouldn’t draw attention, and turned around to venture further into the space.

He almost crashed right into Murdoc.

“Hello, MacGyver,” the psychopath beamed. “You’re right on time.”

Mac blinked, then sprang into action, kicking out at Murdoc’s knee and making him stumble before wildly swinging the heavy flashlight at his head. The assassin managed to recover enough to make what would have been a direct hit to his temple nothing more than a glancing blow, but Mac wasn’t done.

He swung his fist and connected with Murdoc's cheekbone, causing the assassin to take a few quick steps back, but just when Mac went to follow up with a kick to the man’s gut, thinking he might actually get the upper hand, the assassin hit back, his fist colliding with Mac’s still-healing ribcage, and the blond agent gasped. He faltered, shuffling back a few steps as his eyes bulged, his hand instinctively flying to cover the site of the pain, gasping loudly. Murdoc followed up with a backhand that sent him reeling, dropping the flashlight and barely managing to catch himself on the tool bench. Before he could recover and come back swinging, he felt Murdoc’s arm encircle his throat, cradling his Adam’s apple in his elbow and tightening, immediately cutting blood flow to the blond agent’s brain.

Feeling more than seeing the darkness begin to encroach on his vision, Mac did his best to fight Murdoc’s grip, but it was no use. In just a few seconds, he went limp in the assassin’s arms.

He woke up just about a minute or two later, sitting upright in a wooden chair, his head pounding. He felt something encircling his chest, and quickly recognized the sound of duct tape. Quick tests found that his wrists and ankles had already been restrained, and he groaned softly, his head rolling as he pried his eyelids apart, squinting and blinking when he found that the garage lights had been turned on.

“Welcome back, Angus,” Murdoc sounded almost cheerful, but there was a spine-chilling anger under the words. “I hope you enjoyed your nap.”

“Where is he?” Mac demanded, still a little groggy as he tried to orient himself. “Where’s Kyser?”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Murdoc pouted, tearing the duct tape he’d been winding around Mac’s chest and sticking the end behind his chair, slowly moving to stand in front of him. “Honestly, MacGyver, you’re just really starting to disappoint me.”

“Can’t say that I’m sorry about that,” the blond man scoffed. He grunted and winced when Murdoc predictably backhanded him.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your comments to a minimum,” the assassin snarled in his face, and Mac involuntarily pulled his head back, feeling fear prickle in his gut at the look of fury on Murdoc’s face. But still, he was more angry than scared, so he glared daggers at his captor as Murdoc straightened up, looking down at him in disappointment with his hands folded behind his back.

“So, what? Is this meant to scare me?” Mac raised an eyebrow. “We both know you’re not going to kill me, Murdoc; you’ve spent too much time on this little game of yours to give it up now.”

Murdoc actually laughed, then, and Mac suppressed a shudder.

“Oh, Angus, it’s almost cute how little you understand,” the psychopath looked at him in mock pity. “You may have been right before, but now? You’re taking all the fun out of it, MacGyver. I understand that you’re tired, but maybe try thinking about someone  _ other _ than yourself, here? I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get this perfect, but if you just...” he threw his hands up in exasperation, “couldn’t be bothered, then what is the point of all the fanfare?”

“Hang on, are you actually complaining to me that I’m not making you targeting my friends fun enough for you?” Mac gawked. He wasn’t surprised Murdoc felt that way, of course, but...even  _ he _ had to hear how insane that sounded, right?

“The least you could do is appreciate the effort I went to for you, Angus,” Murdoc snapped. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was much calmer. “I think it’s pretty obvious that you failed this quiz. And frankly, I’m starting to get concerned for your final grade in my class, so,” he grabbed the stool from in front of the tool bench and placed it in front of his reluctant student’s chair, sitting down dramatically, “welcome to my office hours.”

Mac scoffed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and hearing the same creak he heard on that phone call with what had to have been a fake Kyser. Hey, if Riley could generate a person’s voice on a computer, why couldn’t Murdoc?

Although how Murdoc had managed to make that voice sound scared, angry, and in pain—

“Now, Angus,” to the blond man’s surprise, it seemed that Murdoc was actually trying to sound sympathetic, “as I said, I’m getting worried about you. You walked blindly into what might actually have been the most blatant trap ever set up in the history of traps—those traffickers could not have been more obvious if they walked up to you and said to your face that they were about to send you into a trap, and you fell for it anyway. You cheated on the last exam—twice, arguably—and still couldn’t even get up into the B range. You’ve been cowering for three months since then and refusing to study for the upcoming exam. You’ve apparently all but forgotten that adorable little helper I got to give you your final grade, which, can I just say, is beyond rude—”

“You think I forgot?” Mac interrupted angrily, feeling his throat tighten as he pulled furiously against his restraints. “You  _ murdered _ an innocent young woman right in front of me, and you think I forgot?”

“You sure as hell act like you forgot!” Murdoc snapped. “Honestly, I went through all that trouble to get my lessons through that thick skull of yours, and you have the  _ audacity _ to act like they never happened? So far you’ve done absolutely nothing to prepare for the next exam—really, Angus, it’s like you  _ want  _ me to fail you!”

“For God’s sake, this isn’t some fucking college course!” Mac yelled, just a touch of desperation in the words. “Do you not  _ get _ that? You’re not a professor! I’m not a student! The way you’re talking, it almost sounds like you believe your own lie, like you think I agreed to this!”

Murdoc blinked at him for a moment, looking truly surprised, before that surprise gave way to genuine disappointment and pity. It was Mac’s turn to be surprised, then, as the assassin in front of him rubbed his brow wearily.

“Angus, did you not pay attention at all while I was going over the syllabus?” he asked at last, looking at him irritably. “I’m ultimately trying to help you, here.”

“Well, you’re shitty at it,” Mac scoffed, absolutely dumbfounded and already bracing himself.

Sure enough, Murdoc’s eyes flashed angrily, and he punched his captive, connecting with his cheekbone. Mac bit back a cry of pain, instead offering another grunt as his head snapped to the side. The sociopath, now on his feet, grabbed a handful of Mac’s hair and forced the young agent to meet his eyes.

“I told you to keep your comments to a minimum,” he snarled, and Mac glared furiously at him until Murdoc released his grip and resumed his seat like nothing happened.

“Now, as I was saying,” Murdoc sighed, and Mac started surreptitiously looking around, trying to figure out what to do. Sure, he knew the assassin wasn’t going to kill him, lest he end his game early—and despite what the man said, Mac was still confident that he wouldn't do that—but he still needed to be sure that he kept this going long enough for Riley to send tac after him. Murdoc had been smart; there was nothing immediately in his reach that he could use to escape. But, his chair was not bolted to the floor. If he could tip it with enough force, then, judging by the sound it was making every time he moved, it would surely break, and he could get out. He might not be able to get away—he was certain that the impact would jar his ribs again, which would slow him down—but he could, at the very least, distract Murdoc and probably prolong this lecture a bit.

Mac had just settled on this plan when Murdoc dealt him another vicious backhand, and the blond agent yelped pitifully, not having braced for that one.

“See? This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Murdoc yelled at him furiously, once again on his feet. “I’m sitting here trying to talk to you, trying to help you, trying to get you to understand what’s going on, here, and you’re not even  _ listening _ !”

Mac didn’t answer, gasping for breath in his chair, and Murdoc rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, sitting back down and regarding his 'student' with a look of exasperation. He took a deep breath, but it seemed to be doing nothing for his obvious frustration.

“I’m going to say this once,” Murdoc’s voice was steady and even, which made a chill shoot straight down MacGyver’s spine. “You’ve lost any chance you had at passing this class well enough to buy you and your friends a free pass.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do not interrupt me again,” Murdoc snarled. “That’s what you were playing for, Angus. If you got at least a B in the course, you would pass and we go on as we were. If you got below that, you and all your buddies would move to the top of my kill list. If you got through everything the way you should have, you would have been free. I never would have targeted any of you again, except in cases of direct self-defense. But you failed at that. You’ve lost your edge. I’m starting to wonder if I wasted my time with you. And I’m betting your friends are thinking the same right about now, after you once again put your own petty need for revenge—your need to beat me, to win—ahead of what they need.”

Mac opened his mouth to argue again, but Murdoc’s eyes flashed furiously, and he pulled out his gun and aimed it at his captive.

“I swear to God, Angus, if you say one word, I will throw it all away and kill you right now,” he growled, pressing the barrel to the blond man’s forehead. Mac felt his gut clench, but he still wasn’t quite afraid; there was no way Murdoc was going to shoot him. Not before his game was over. No matter what Murdoc said, he was having too much fun with these exams; Mac could see it written all over his face in those clips when he was slicing up Bozer. Murdoc was angry, and that in itself was terrifying, but he wasn’t going to kill Mac before the good part. Still, the blond agent obediently shut his mouth.

Murdoc pulled the gun back from Mac’s skull, but didn’t put it away, instead just lowering it slightly so that it was aimed more center mass. “They needed you rested. You needed to be busy. They needed you focused. You needed to find me. They needed you to let them help you. You needed to go it alone. They needed you to listen to their perfectly valid concerns. You needed to believe that you could save a bunch of snot-nosed brats. They needed you to be safe while they went to save poor Agent Kyser—whom you still have not asked about after I merely implied that he wasn’t here, despite insisting that I was a liar during that last exam. You needed to take your shot at me. Whether you want to admit it or not, Angus, you have been putting yourself ahead of every last one of your friends since the very beginning.”

Mac didn’t say anything, doing his best not to dwell on the killer's words, eyeing that gun. Honestly, now that it  _ wasn’t _ aimed at his head, he was a little more nervous. He was confident Murdoc wouldn’t kill him, but wound him and not give him time to heal before the next exam? That, he would do.

“And don’t get me wrong, Angus, I’m proud of you for realizing that the only person you should be concerned about in this world is yourself, but if it’s going to affect your performance this badly, I’d much rather you just be a pathetic little Boy Scout again; I’d still kill you in the end, but at least it would be more fun!”

Mac scoffed softly, dropping his pounding head for a moment and blinking hard a few times, using the opportunity to glance at his watch. By that time, Phoenix had to know what he’d done, and Riley had no doubt figured out where he was. The question was, how fast could they get there? Another second to process what time it actually was made Mac have to suppress a smirk. His distraction would be there shortly.

Just as he pulled his head back up, it happened. Across the street, his neighbors’ kid, Gary Brooks, was getting ready to go to his shift at the hardware store Mac frequented. Murdoc likely wouldn’t know much about Gary, considering the fact that he’d been away at college since January, and had only returned a few weeks ago after taking summer classes to finish his degree a year early. As it did every day when he was home, Gary’s beat-up truck backfired loudly, echoing through the neighborhood and invariably causing every dog on the block to start losing its mind. Murdoc instinctively looked out the window, and Mac didn’t waste his chance. He threw his weight to the right, and the chair he was in toppled. He was right before; the impact both broke the chair and caused pain to grip his ribcage and squeeze. Murdoc, as expected, whipped his head back around instantly, and Mac forced himself to ignore the fact that his lungs were refusing to draw in enough oxygen, and instead kicked his now-free leg into Murdoc’s gut. The strike was enough to wind him a bit, and the blond man used that window to scramble to his feet.

Mac went straight for the gun, swinging at it with the arm of the chair that was still taped to his wrist. Murdoc dropped the weapon, and Mac didn’t give him time to recover, swinging his improvised club at his tormentor’s skull, connecting with a satisfying  _ thump _ . The blond agent kept his assault going, swinging and kicking at anything he could, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement when he saw that he managed to draw blood.

He managed to knock Murdoc down to one knee despite the tape around his chest limiting his range of motion, but when Mac swung his club arm again, ready to knock the man out, the assassin surprised him, grabbing the chair arm to which he was attached and instead punching Mac in the ribs hard enough that he was sure he felt one crack again beneath his skin. The agent’s eyes went wide as he struggled to pull in enough air. It was all too easy for Murdoc to just push him onto the floor beside the work bench. Once the blond man was down, Murdoc wiped away the blood from his nose and mouth, then scooped his gun up off the floor and moved to stand over the object of his obsession.

“It was a good try, MacGyver,” Murdoc told him pityingly, taking aim at Mac’s skull and offering him a small, sickening smirk. “But still, you disappoint me.”

* * *

“C’mon, Riles, talk to me,” Jack implored. He, Ramirez, and three tac teams were speeding to Mac’s house as fast as they could without drawing attention from law enforcement; neither was particularly in the mood to be the subject of a high speed chase at the moment. “Are you sure he’s still there?”

“No,” Riley admitted regretfully. “Mac’s phone hasn’t moved an inch since I remotely turned it back on. I haven’t seen anyone leave the area, but—”

“But Murdoc is a crafty bastard,” Bozer chimed in. Following Mac’s earlier phone call and subsequent disappearing act, Boze had been taken immediately back to Phoenix, as per their security protocol in the event that Murdoc got hold of one of them. “He coulda found a way to slip out with Mac.”

“Regardless, the house is our best bet,” Matty sighed. Jack’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything as they pulled up along the street in front of Mac’s place, their vehicles hidden by the foliage by the curb. Everybody hopped out, Jack and Ramirez being the only ones not in full tac gear, and Simmons wordlessly tossed each of them a vest, which they gladly put on.

"We'll be going in as soon as we can get in position," the tac team leader assured them before turning and starting to direct the other teams, telling them where to go and reminding them that Mac had boobytrapped the hell out of the place. All of it was nonlethal, but all of it would ruin any stealth approach they were aiming for. He'd just finished giving instructions when they all heard a loud retort that each and every one of them instantly recognized as a gunshot.

"Garage!" Jack shouted to them, having been looking at the house in time to catch the muzzle flash through the garage window.

"Everybody move in!" Simmons ordered as tac began to scramble, desperately trying to cover the exits. "Jack, with us!"

The three teams converged on the home, splitting up as previously determined, and Jack stuck with Simmons' team as they moved in on the garage.

Back at Phoenix, Matty, Riley, and Bozer watched Simmons' bodycam footage, holding their breath, as the team stormed into Mac's garage. They saw the usual collection of odds and ends, rather haphazardly stuffed towards the walls to clear a workspace in the middle of the garage floor, and on that clean-swept concrete there were the busted remains of a wooden chair. Just beyond that, to their horror, they could make out Mac's crumpled form.

"Mac!" Jack sounded just as desperate and terrified as his team felt, rushing to his partner's side. Simmons joined him after ensuring that his team had the area covered, and gave the group in the War Room their first clear look at Mac.

He had blood pooling under his head. There was so much of it—it matted his hair, stained his face...he was slumped over on his side, held in that position by the pieces of chair still taped to his body. His eyes were closed, and the footage wasn't steady enough to tell if he was even breathing. Jack was visibly struggling to remain calm, frantically trying to find where the blood was coming from, his other hand pressed deep into Mac's exposed throat.

"He's breathing, but I can barely feel a pulse," the former Delta reported, his voice clipped and tense. "Riley?"

"Ambulance is on its way," the analyst promised. "Two minutes."

"Jack," Ramirez got the older man's attention and tossed him a reasonably clean-looking hand towel, which Jack caught and quickly used to help apply pressure to the gushing wound in his partner's head. All the while, deeper in the house, they could hear the sound grenades Mac had rigged up all those months ago blaring loudly. Stealth was clearly out the window, and everyone was much more focused on trying to clear the house quickly before Murdoc could get away.

"Anybody got eyes on that son of a bitch?" Jack demanded loudly as the sound of sirens began to add to the noise, the ambulance drawing closer by the second.

"Negative," Cassidy Todd reported, shouting to be heard over the sound grenades, which tac was now rounding up and silencing. "House is clear; the bastard's gone."

“Search the surrounding area,” Matty ordered. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

The ambulance arrived just after she finished speaking, and Jack was soon pushed aside, his hands covered in his partner's blood.

"C'mon, stay with me, Mac," Jack mumbled quietly, barely loud enough to get picked up by Simmons' vest cam. "Not here. Not like this, brother. Not today. Please..."

Mac, of course, didn't answer. He was completely unresponsive as the medics quickly and efficiently cut him free of the chair pieces he was still attached to, put a collar around his neck to keep his head stable, and transferred him to the stretcher, one of them maintaining pressure on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. Jack followed them out to the ambulance without a second thought, jumping in with them, refusing to leave his partner’s side for even a moment. He let the medics do their jobs, but he wasn’t letting Mac out of his sight. Not this time.

* * *

As Mac slowly started to wake up again, he first noticed the sound of a football game. For a brief moment, he thought he was back in his safehouse apartment, that he'd fallen asleep and was still with Jack and Ramirez, that none of what happened with Murdoc actually happened. That thought was quickly abandoned when he picked out his heart monitor's steady beeping. He felt a dull ache in the back left side of his head, which led him to the conclusion that they had to have him on some painkillers, and it took him a minute to realize why that had to be true. Carefully, he pried his eyes open, blinking a few times to clear his vision. Sure enough, he was in a hospital. The TV was on across from him, showing the Sunday night game, and in the chair to his right sat Jack, watching the screen with a grim expression. On the wounded agent's left was Bozer, utilizing the recliner. Rolling his eyes to the door, he saw Simmons and Jada standing in the hallway. Riley and Matty were nowhere to be seen, but Mac was sure they were nearby. After another couple of seconds, he finally spoke.

"49ers win?"

At the sound of his gravelly voice, his best friends both whipped their heads to look at him. Jack got to his feet, looking equal parts relieved and furious, and Bozer pushed the foot rest of the recliner down and swiveled the chair to face him.

"Mac," Jack studied his partner's face carefully, "how you feelin'?"

"Okay," Mac promised.

"Good," Jack nodded in approval, his features seeming to settle predominantly on anger, "because I swear to _ God _ , man, if you ever run off and do something that goddamn stupid without me ever again, Murdoc won't have to kill you; I'll do it myself."

Mac chuckled slightly, although he wasn't amused. He forced his drugged mind to focus before he spoke again, meeting his partner's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he apologized sincerely. "You're right; I never should have gone in there alone."

"Damn right," Jack agreed, seeming surprised by his friend's quick acceptance of blame.

"Is Kyser okay?" The blond agent's next question was tinged with worry.

"He's fine, Mac," Bozer assured him. "He was never at our place. Murdoc never had him."

Mac's brow furrowed in slight confusion, but before he could say anything else, the door opened, and Riley and Matty walked in, Riley holding a can of pop. They ceased their conversation when they saw that Mac was awake.

“About time,” Matty frowned, though she, too, looked concerned. “You ready to walk us through what the fuck was going through your head earlier?”

“Um, a bullet?” Mac joked, feeling light and floaty thanks to the painkillers being fed through his IV. Jack smacked him on the arm, only semi-gently.

“This isn’t funny, Mac,” his partner glared at him. "He tagged you point blank. There's three pints of blood dryin' on the floor in your garage. We almost lost you, man. You do get that, right?"

“Yes,” Mac assured him. “And you’re right; I’m sorry, it’s not funny.”

“Just...” Bozer rubbed his brow, looking frustrated. “Start at the beginning.”  
“Well...I wasn’t lying at first; I genuinely did think he had Kyser,” Mac promised. “I don’t know how Murdoc did it. He could have cloned his voice like Riley did way back when, but...Kyser sounded scared. He sounded hurt.”

“Did he ever address you specifically?” Riley asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

“Only once, and he only said my name,” Mac admitted. Jack broke in somewhat angrily.

"And that was enough to make you ditch all of us—on purpose I might add—and launch your one man rescue mission?"

Not precisely. "Jack...at first, I really did think he was at Kyser's, and considering it was me, not you, who pissed him off so royally during the last encounter—” because he flatly refused to call it an exam— "I didn't want to—to break any more 'rules.' I was hoping he didn't know we were together, or maybe he'd miscalculate how long it would take us to mobilize a response. By the time I figured out that he was at my place, you were already out the door."

That wasn't entirely true; he could have called them back, but it truly had sounded just like the tactical team medic. Mac let his eyes slide towards Riley. "It really sounded just like him."

"That's no excuse," Matty snapped, temporarily regaining his attention. "Mac, even if he had Mark Kyser, you knew that at best he was merely bait or a distraction for us so Murdoc could isolate you."

There was no point in denying it, so Mac didn't. Matty's lips thinned.

"I don't know how to make you understand the situation that you're in," she started, and for some reason her voice started fusing with Murdoc's, saying the same words. Mac found himself shaking his head.

"The situation is that a high-functioning sociopath has targeted all of us, and he's out there, and the longer I leave him out there the higher the chance that he's going to make another move." He glanced back at Riley without thinking; the painkillers were making it hard for him to corral his thoughts.

The higher the chance that he was going to get his hands on Riley Davis. The higher the chance that the next 'encounter' would end with the death of one of his friends—or worse. "I can't wait him out," Mac added firmly. "And he knows it. Taking the bait guaranteed I'd get a chance at stopping him. I was careful. I thought he was in the kitchen but—"

But either he hadn't been, or he'd set up some kind of surveillance in the garage and had known the second Mac had opened the window. But wouldn’t he have heard the door to the house opening if—?

“Well clearly you weren’t careful enough,” Matty scoffed, pulling his attention again. “Mac, he  _ shot _ you. In the head. That bullet could have done serious damage. Brain damage. Did you intentionally push him that far? Or is he just tired of playing his own game?”

Mac shook his head slightly, “No, Matty, I think we all know that if he really wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have just grazed me.” Even if it sounded like the graze was a little more than a graze.

He was fine...wasn't he? The floaty feeling was just the drugs.

...Right?

“So what did he want?” Bozer tilted his head a bit in uneasy confusion.

“He just...wanted to talk,” Mac shrugged, frowning. “He was pissed off because I wasn’t making it fun enough for him.”

Jack scoffed irritably, “Yeah, of course he was.”

“He basically just spent several minutes telling me how much of a fuckup I am,” Mac shook his head, rubbing his eyes gently. “He chose that moment to tell me that apparently I’d been trying to get a high enough ‘grade’ that he would never come after us again. And also that it was literally impossible for me to achieve that, now. I’m sorry, guys; I didn’t even get anything useful. I—”

“Matty, can I talk to you for a minute?” Riley interrupted, the gears turning behind her eyes. “And Boze, you went to PT with Kyser, right?”

“Yeah,” Bozer confirmed, giving her a look.

“You, too, then,” the analyst practically ordered, already walking towards the door. Matty glanced at Mac, Jack, and Boze in confusion.

“Riley,” Mac tried to call his friend back, but Riley cut him off.

“Just give us a minute, Mac,” she nearly snapped at him. “We’ll explain later.”

With this, she quickly left the room, Matty following and Bozer trailing behind much more slowly. Soon, Mac was left alone with his partner, and he could already feel the man frowning at him.

“Listen, Jack, I—” Mac began, but again, he was cut off.

“No, Mac,  _ you _ listen,” Jack growled. “We said no more lies. You lied to me, man. You turned off your phone so we almost didn’t find you in time. You  _ intentionally _ sidelined me, Mac, and I...I almost found you dead on the floor! Do you have any idea what that was like? Walking in there, finding you unresponsive with blood pooling under your big head? You shut me out! You made me unable to protect you!”

“Jack, no, I really did think Mark could have been at Ramirez’s house,” Mac argued, which was only partially true. “It was a 50/50 situation.”

“And you’re lying to me again!” Jack’s eyes flashed furiously. “Mac I know you well enough that if you really thought it was 50/50, if you were really keeping the team in mind, you would have told me about both. You were at least mostly sure he was at your place, and you went alone anyway.”

“What do you want me to say, Jack?” Mac asked him, sounding wounded. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. What else is there to say?”

“How about you tell me what the  _ fuck  _ was going through your head to make you think that was a good idea!” Jack was almost yelling, and Mac flinched back from the sound, closing his eyes for a moment as his concussion became determined to make its presence known.

"I was trying to save our friend," Mac argued lamely, irritably, reaching up and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"That is bullshit and you know it!" Jack shot back. "Even if Ramirez and I had already left, you still ditched your detail! You went there without backup on purpose! Do you even understand how fucking stupid that was? How reckless?!"

"Well I got shot in the head, Jack, so yeah, I think I've got a pretty good idea," Mac growled in response, his hands trembling with a mix of anger and something the blond man couldn't quite identify as he placed them on his blanket again.

“I’m really not sure that you do!” Jack scoffed. "Why the hell would you go it alone on this, huh? Do you even know the answer to that? Do you have any idea what would happen to the rest of us if you went and got yourself killed? Did you even  _ think  _ about that? Do you even  _ care _ anymore?"

Mac felt something in him snap, and he practically screamed back at his partner, ignoring his throbbing head's immediate protest. “Of  _ course _ I fucking care, Jack! How could you even ask me that? And you really think I don’t think about that? It’s all I ever fucking think about! Maybe you’d know that if you bothered to actually try and help me figure this out and didn't just totally shut me out like everyone else! You’re supposed to be my  _ partner _ , Jack, or did  _ you _ not think about  _ that _ ?”

Jack looked about ready to shout back at him, but before he got the chance, the door behind them opened and a nurse rushed in, scowling at the two of them.

“That is quite enough,” the older, matronly woman stated severely, striding over to them. “ _ You _ ,” she pointed a stern finger at Mac, “just suffered a serious concussion; you’re supposed to be resting. And  _ you _ ,” she shifted her gaze to Jack, “need to stop antagonizing my patient. Now get out and let your friend rest.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but the nurse cut him off, raising her voice a bit, “Now. Before I have you banned from the room altogether.”

“You can’t do that!” Jack argued.

“Yes, I can,” she folded her arms and glared at him. Mac, meanwhile, had finally started to surrender to his throbbing, screaming head, closing his eyes as he listened to his nurse continue, “I can ban  _ anyone _ from the room if they are detrimental to the patient’s health. Now go.”

Jack looked like he thought about arguing, but after one more harsh look from the nurse and a glance down at his partner’s pained expression, and he dipped his head in acceptance and stalked out of the room, the nurse following him. She turned off the TV, dimmed the lights, and shut the door before walking back to the nurses’ station, which was directly across from Mac’s room, and watched him like a hawk. Jack let out a weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck while Simmons and Jada looked between each other, the head nurse, and Jack with a mixture of shock and amusement. After a moment, Jack finally walked off, deciding that he needed to cool off anyway and wanting to find the others.

He found them in an empty conference room on the same floor, where Reeves and Dixon—two other guys from Simmons’ tac team—were standing outside the door. Matty wasn’t taking any chances with a pissed-off Murdoc on the loose. When he walked in, he found his three friends in a somewhat heated discussion, with Riley scrolling on her phone with urgency on her face.

"Hey," he said, grabbing their attention. "What's going on?"

Riley shushed him as she put her phone on speaker, allowing the others to hear it ring twice before it was answered.

"Hello?" Ramirez sounded exhausted when he spoke.

"Ramirez, you still at your place with Kyser?" Riley asked, causing Jack to tilt his head in confusion.

"Yeah, why?" The tac agent's voice suddenly lost all drowsiness.

"Is he with you now?" Riley pressed.

"What is this about?"

"I'll explain when I get there," Riley promised. "Just don't talk about anything sensitive in front of him right now."

"What? Hold on, you're not seriously suggesting that Mark could be—"

"Of course not," Matty broke in. “No one is suggesting that Kyser could be helping Murdoc.”

“Not knowingly,” Riley corrected.

“Now wait just a fucking minute,” Ramirez’s scowl was almost audible.

Riley groaned, then let out a breath, rubbing her brow. “Mac said he heard Kyser on the phone when Murdoc called him. His voice. Now, yes, I’ve computer generated someone’s voice before, but I needed a pretty decent sample of their voice to do it, and even then, I can’t synthetically add in emotion. Mac said he sounded scared, hurt. The only way that's possible is if Kyser actually said the things Mac heard. That it was truly Kyser's voice, either recorded or live. Since live doesn't make any sense—"

“He had to have recordings of Kyser’s voice,” Boze finished.

“Right,” Riley nodded. “So don’t say anything in front of Kyser; we’re on our way.”

Without waiting for a reply, she hung up and started making her way out the door, pushing past Jack along the way. Taken by surprise at the attitude, Jack simply stared at her retreating back.

“Riley, wait!” Bozer called after her, rushing to catch up. Matty let out a sigh and started to follow.

“Jack, you stay here with Mac,” she ordered. “We’ll let you know what we find out.”

With this, she walked off, leaving Jack alone, and the former Delta let out a weary sigh. He knew the boss was going to be mad at him for a little while after he and Ramirez ignored orders, but hey—at least she wasn’t as mad at him as she was at Mac. Not wanting to go back to Mac’s room quite yet—and not sure that he could get past the head nurse anyway—he instead decided to take a few laps around the hospital, staying on the same floor as his out-of-commission partner and acutely aware of Reeves and Dixon trailing behind him, keeping an eye out for him.

After about fifteen minutes, he finally came back to Mac’s room. He cast a glance over at the nurse’s station and saw the head nurse look him up and down before pointedly turning her attention back to the paperwork in front of her. Seeing that as the highest level of approval he could hope to get, Jack quietly slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.

Mac was lying in his bed, looking exhausted and pale, his eyes closed as his heart monitor beeped steadily.

“Mac,” he kept his voice quiet, “you awake?”

His partner did not respond, so Jack walked over and lowered himself into his previous seat, turning it to face the younger man.

“I know we’re gonna have to have a talk when you wake up, but hell if I don’t need a rehearsal,” Jack chuckled to himself. He was quiet for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Mac. I was outta line before. I know you care what happens to us in this whole mess; we all know that. But man...you're really not acting like you give a shit what happens to  _ you _ in this, and that is scarin' the holy hell outta me. I was almost too late today, man. I felt just as helpless as I did when we were goin' after Boze. I know I should be helping you try and figure this crap out, not sidelining you, but Mac...you're driving yourself into the ground, here. I'm just trying to keep you alive, bud. And you're not doin' much to help with that."

Jack exhaled through his nose, frowning to himself.

"But I still never shoulda said what I did," he said after a moment. "It wasn't fair."

“No, it really wasn’t,” Mac’s gravelly voice chimed in, and Jack jumped just a bit as his partner half-opened his eyes sleepily. The blond man visibly bit back a smirk before he continued. “But that doesn’t mean you weren’t right.”

"No, Mac, I wasn't," Jack frowned.

"Yes you were," Mac nodded, his heavy eyelids falling shut again. "Going alone like I did was stupid and selfish and unfair. I know that, now, and I'm sorry. I won't do it again. But Jack...this is scaring me too. More than you know. And worse, it's..." He broke off, eyes still closed, voice still quiet and exhausted. "When we bunk together, Boze, he...he has nightmares. Bad ones. Kinda like after the fake Zito. Back then, he'd—he'd talk about it with me. Let me in, let me help. Now he plays it off, holds it all in like it's not happening. Like he can't—like we can't...I think he's trying to protect me, you're all trying to protect me, but keeping me out of the loop entirely instead of just...I don't know, getting me to slow down...it's making it a lot worse. For me, for him...I was just so  _ angry _ at him, Jack. At Murdoc. I'm so damned angry, all the time, about what he did to Boze, about the people he's hurt or killed, what he's doing to all of you, and—how am I supposed to help, how can I stop him when even—even you won't let me?"

"There's not much you can really do right now, y'know," Jack reminded him gently. "Most of the viable evidence we got right now, it's all Riley's wheelhouse. He wants to see you fall apart, and working yourself crazy over something you can't change is just gonna give him what he wants."

"Believe me, Jack, I know," Mac chuckled humorlessly. There was a beat or two of silence, and then the blond man's eyes opened. When he spoke again, his voice was almost hesitant. 

"I know how we're gonna beat him."


End file.
